


See the Real Q

by missace



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond - All Media Types, SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Bond falls in love, Car Sex, Consentacles, Double Anal Penetration, Felching, Gay Sex, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Q gets kidnapped, Q is a bamf, Rimming, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, Spoilers, Tags May Change, Tattoos, TentaQ, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, bottom!Bond, bottom!Q, hints of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missace/pseuds/missace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Bond sees the tattoo-like markings of Q’s tentacles, he sucks in a short breath and whispers, “Q.”</p><p>“What do they represent?”</p><p>Q answers Bond with all honesty, “Me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> To the person who created the opening credits of SPECTRE: You are an inspiration.  
> Please heed the tags everybody!

The first time Bond sees the tattoo-like markings of Q’s tentacles, he sucks in a short breath and whispers, “Q.”

He has Q do a turn to make sure that, yes, the markings do cover his entire lower body. 

When Bond touches him, he starts at the tip of the two larger appendages on Q’s chest and follows the gently curved markings that seem to bracket his frame, making Q shiver. Then Bond splays large and warm, gun-callused hands across the tangle of smaller tentacle markings that start at the waist and Q nearly comes undone.

Q manages to reign in his control and keep his tentacles from spilling out. He can’t say the same for his colouring though, which morphs his skin tone a few shades lighter to match the white sheets beneath him when he comes, seeing stars. Luckily, Bond wasn’t paying attention, too busy chasing his own orgasm.

Q wakes at dawn to fingers tracing lazy patterns over the other two large appendages nestled between his shoulder blades. He can tell that Bond has been awake for some time based on the sharp gaze in his eyes that seem intent on memorizing every detail of his markings. 

“What do they represent?”

Q answers Bond with all honesty, “Me.”

Bond accepts the vagueness of Q’s response and abandons his line of questioning for more pleasurable pursuits. Questing fingers dip to Q’s opening, asking permission and Q grants it by pressing back. When Q comes, it’s all he can do to keep his tentacles from spilling and contain the writhing within his body. And if Q seems brighter, then Bond chalks it up to the sunshine pouring in through the windows, lighting Q’s body aglow. Bond thinks he has never seen anything more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I watched SPECTRE and I couldn't get the idea of tentacle!sex out of my head. Then my fingers slipped and this came out. Oops.  
> This is my first fanfic and I'm going to post it before I lose my nerve.  
> More to come pending my busy school schedule. Un-beta'ed so any mistakes are mine.  
> Please rate and review, thanks!


	2. Strive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Rating changed to Explicit.
> 
> Some minor spoilers for SPECTRE when Q prattles on about the car. All I could think about was car sex, car sex, car sex. 
> 
> I hope you will enjoy reading this filthy, smutty chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it ;)

Bond thought it would be a one-night stand but his traitorous body dictated otherwise.

As a personal rule, Bond never sleeps with the same co-worker twice. It’s distinctly unhealthy to form attachments given the nature of his work. Yet, here they are a week later on their third encounter in the new Aston Martin that Q is remodeling just for him.

It’s a bit cramped even with some inventive seat adjustments and Bond already has Q bent over double. The seat’s tilted all the way back but it’s still set at an incline. Bond tries to get a better grip as he thrusts into Q but he’s got lube all over his hands and some on the seat, making everything slippery. Eventually he loses the fight against gravity and they slide down.

Bond lands with his arse on the horn and the sound startles the both of them. They tense for a few seconds before they meet each other’s eyes.

Q breaks first, snorting and wheezing, and Bond can’t help but join in, chuckling wryly. Q’s giggles manage to push Bond out and Q laughs all the harder.

The whole situation is utterly ridiculous.

When their laughter subsides, their foreheads are touching and they just rest there a moment breathing each other in. Bond realizes that Q cannot be comfortable in his current position and start to untangle them.

“Where are you going?”

Bond raises an eyebrow and looks pointedly at their surroundings, “Q.”

Q makes an annoyed sound and says, “You just have to pull that lever and then we’ll be fully horizontal.”

Bond pulls the lever and they drop back by a couple of centimetres.

“Q, it’s not going to work.”

“Then I suggest you put your back into it, 007,” says Q, voice in quartermaster mode.

Bond smiles at that, remembering, and quips back, “ _You_ put your back into it.”

“We’ll both put our backs into it, shall we? On 3 – 2 – 1.”

Something in the car snaps and suddenly they’re horizontal. Q sighs, bemoaning the damage and Bond kisses him to make him shut up.

It’s their first kiss and Q looks up at him, wide-eyed and surprised.

Bond realizes his mistake and inwardly curses himself. Bond only ever kisses his marks because the tactic makes for a speedier seduction. Except Q isn’t a mark. No, he’s far beyond that.

Bond finds that he likes kissing Q and without overanalyzing it too much, he leans back in for another kiss. Q tastes of the earl grey tea that he seems to consume by the gallon each day and the mints that he keeps in his drawer. Bond can’t help but think of what they would taste like together if Bond had some fine quality scotch beforehand as he licks his way into Q’s mouth, their tongues dancing in a give and take.

Or rum. Oh yes, that would be a better match. Bond runs his tongue along the back of Q’s teeth and decides that he really likes kissing Q. It’s a heady sensation and why didn’t they do this sooner?

Bond trails a line of kisses down Q’s throat and then sucks a bruise in to the skin, just at the tip of one of the larger tentacle tattoos on Q’s chest. Bond follows the tentacle down, kissing and sucking more bruises, making Q squirm, and moan, and arch his hips to get more friction. Q’s renewed erection presses insistently against Bond’s navel while Bond’s own desire lies heavy along his leg.

But Bond ignores all of that in favour of pursuing a particularly interesting strand on Q’s inner thigh. It’s depicted like a cock, thinner but much longer, ending at just above the crook of the knee. Bond licks and mouths his way down Q’s thigh, looks up and makes eye contact with Q when he reaches the tip.

Q is flushed, panting and paying rapt attention while Bond laves and sucks the skin at the head, heavily suggesting what Bond would do with Q’s real cock. Q’s eyes, already blown wide, seem to dilate even more.

Bond repeats the same motions on the matching strand in the opposite thigh. When he finally makes his way up to the apex, Q’s got both his hands on the back of Bond’s head, pressing gently in an attempt to guide him to where Q wants him to be.

Taking pity on Q, Bond gives him what he wants. Bond slowly takes Q into his mouth, tongue rubbing along the underside of Q’s cock until his lips touch the root. Q gasps, impressed by the lack of a gag reflex as he tries not to grind himself into Bond’s welcoming mouth.

Bond comes back up just as slowly, one hand pulling down at the base as he sucks. The dual sensation of being pulled drives Q mad, Bond can tell by the way he clenches his hands into fists and the swoop of his stomach when he exhales sharply.

With his other hand, Bond teases at Q’s opening. He’s still slick from before but has gone tight again.

Bond eases the first finger in and then the second, all the while sucking and pumping, working Q into a whimpering frenzy. Bond pins down Q’s hips with a forearm and hums around the head of Q’s cock as he drives in the third finger. Bond is prepared for Q as he bucks up with a shout and Bond hungrily swallows all of Q down again.

Bond can’t decide if he wants Q to come down his throat or all over the both of them when Bond fucks deeply into him. The thought of either scenario gives Bond a thrill like never before, making his cock twitch. Q decides for him when he pushes at Bond’s forehead.

Bond lets up with an obscene pop of the mouth, spit and precome dragging a thin line between Bond’s lips and Q’s hard cock.

Q moans at the sight.

“I’m ready. I’m more than ready,” pants Q, “Come up here and fuck me.”

Before Q’s even finished speaking, Bond’s already rolling on a fresh condom and pouring out a liberal dose of lube. He throws Q’s tattooed legs over his shoulders and lines them up.

Q pulls Bond down by the back of his head for a dirty kiss, sharing Q’s taste of musk and salt.

Tequila, to go with the salt; Bond will have to bring some lemon slices—That’s the last coherent thought Bond has before he’s consumed by good, hot. _Tight_.

Bond bottoms out in Q in one long slide and it takes every ounce of Bond’s control to not drive into Q’s heat, to slow down and be gentle.

But Q wants none of that and demands, “Harder.”

That’s an order that Bond can follow so he goes harder on the next thrust and it jostles Q bodily upwards.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” Q hisses in appreciation.

Bond leans back so he can watch himself drive into Q’s body, to see his lover tighten down on his cock and know that _he_ did that. _He_ brought them pleasure.

“Look, Q. Look at how well you take my cock.”

Q looks and Bond looks with him, each thrust going in long and deep and hard, hard enough to make Q’s erection bounce and bob in the air. And Christ, Q has a beautiful cock. If Bond wasn’t already balls-deep in Q, then he wouldn’t mind taking a turn on that.

_Next time_ , he promises himself. Next time, Bond’s going to ride it for all it’s worth.

Then Bond notices it, Q’s clenching down on him every time he’s in, like Q doesn’t want Bond to leave and it turns the pull-back into a sweet drag.

Bond looks up at Q, and Q looks innocently back at him. Bond narrows his eyes. _Oh, challenge accepted._

Bond takes the time to re-angle his hips before he thrusts in once more, unerringly finding Q’s prostate, making Q throw his head back and cry out.

Q’s long neck is exposed and open for the taking. So Bond does, tasting the rapid beat of Q’s pulse on his tongue.

“Your move, Quartermaster.”

Q pulls Bond’s head up with both hands until they’re face-to-face.

There’s a frenzied gleam in Q’s eyes as he says, “Make me come, 007.”

Bond’s going to have to train himself to not think of this moment whenever Q’s in his ear on future missions.

“Yes, sir.”

Bond braces himself in the small confines of the car and starts a fast, punishing pace.

His mind dimly registers a slight squeaking sound over the sharp slap of their thighs as he makes the entire car shake with his thrusts.

Bond’s lost the location of Q’s prostate so he begins to circle his hips as he drives into Q. Soon, there’s a hitch in Q’s breathing, his face slack in a dazed pleasure with his mouth open in a soundless _oh!_ letting Bond know that he found it again.

Then Q’s arching his back with his arms thrown wide, grappling to find purchase. Bond grabs both of Q’s hands and pins him down, fucking him with quick, shallow thrusts.

“Come on, Q. Come for me.”

Q whines. “Bond, I need—Ah!”

Bond knows exactly what he needs and gathers both of Q’s hands over his head with one hand, still pinning Q down. Bond’s free hand curves around Q’s length which leaks copious amounts of precome as Bond strokes, and squeezes, and teases.

Q’s panting now. “Ah, yes! Right there, Bond.”

Bond practically growls, “Call me James.”

Bond’s so close he can taste it, feel it as his scrotum starts to tighten. He rubs a hard thumb on Q’s frenulum and then Q’s entire body spasms.

Q shouts, “James!”

And that’s what Bond needed to hear. He shuts his eyes tight and follows Q, groaning and shouting Q’s name, coming hard and long in him while Q comes in strong spurts, painting their chests with hot seed.

As they recover, Bond thinks he’s going to remember this. Remember the smell of new-car leather and the reek of sex, feeling weightless in the aftermath of orgasmic bliss. He may have just had the best sex of his life because he could swear that he saw Q’s tattoos _move_ just as he came.

Bond laughs to himself because that’s insane.

He gazes down at his Quartermaster lying beneath him. Q’s eyes are still closed, his jaw is clenched and his whole body is tense. Bond cards his fingers through Q’s already mussed hair.

“Hey.”

Q opens his eyes and Bond can detect a flash of fear before it’s replaced with calm. Bond hopes that Q isn’t normally this nervous after sex.

Q has to clear his throat before he says, “Hey, yourself.”

“I’m going to pull out.”

Q nods and grimaces as Bond withdraw. Bond kisses an apology into the middle of Q’s brows then ties off the condom. Bond can see Q visibly relax as Bond uses his own underwear to wipe off the drying come from Q’s body.

After doing the same for himself, Bond says, “Let’s get you up and dressed.”

Q flaps a hand. “In a minute.”

Bond pulls on his clothes and admires the image that Q’s nude form presents: relaxed and boneless with his tentacle tattoos standing stark against his pale skin, forming an almost tribal pattern that is simple, and complex, and interwoven at the same time.

Bond feels a fondness wash over him which is quickly followed by worry. Bond schools his features to look neutral while feeling uneasily troubled inside. This—the banter-cum-flirting during work and the mutual attraction before falling in to bed—this is exactly how it started the first time he fell in love. He had told himself that the first time would also be the last time because look how _that_ had ended. But the affinity he holds for Q has long settled and Bond thinks he’s well and truly fucked now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes? Good? Okay? *bites lips nervously*
> 
> It's damn hard to show that James Bond is a considerate lover without saying that he's a considerate lover. I hope I was able to do it justice.
> 
> Plot will be coming in the next chapter which will take a while because of school.
> 
> Please rate and review if you liked it. Thanks for reading!


	3. Omittance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features: tentacles, tense switching, a glimpse into how the relationship started, the beginning scene to the car sex in the previous chapter, and rimming.

Q stares at his computer screen, affronted. Bond’s doing a search on Q on MI6’s database.

“007.”

“Q,” Bond drawls from his end in India.

“Is now really the best time to be doing this?”

As Bond scrolls through the results, he says, “Yes, because awaiting further instructions is terribly dull.”

“So to pass the time you decide to hack my file.”

“Not hacking, no. I could never be at your level.”

Q pauses, slightly flattered.

“What would you call it then?”

“Research on a working colleague. This information is really out of date.”

A query for “Quartermaster” or “head of Q-branch” still returns everything on Boothroyd. Q made sure of it.

“You could just ask, you know.”

“In case you didn’t notice, I work in intelligence, Q. Therefore, I need to practice my intelligence gathering skills.”

Q watches as Bond pulls up the facial recognition software on his laptop.

“There is something called Google. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

“I have heard of it, thank you. But it’s hard to look someone up when all you have to go on is a letter for a name and a job title.”

Bond drags and drops a file into the upload section which magnifies into a slightly grainy photo of Q inside MI6.

“Hey! How did you get that picture?”

“CCTV. Aha!”

The top results from the facial recognition program depict Q with varying hair lengths and styles, head turned at different angles.

“Why are there seven of you, Q?”

“I used myself as a test case when I upgraded the system.”

Bond selects one at random. “But they all have such thorough backgrounds.”

“The latest identity generator software works in a pinch, complete with credit card history, dental records, and even a Twitter handle. Not that you would ever use the software, of course.”

“Hmm,” Bond hums noncommittally. “Are any of these the real you?”

“Oh now that would be telling.”

“You said to ask if I wanted to know.”

“I believe I’ll let you practice your intelligence gathering skills.”

Q takes a sip of his tea, feeling amused and a bit smug. He’s fairly sure that Bond is smiling on his end as well.

“Why thank you, Dr. Jacob Munroe. You don’t look like a Jacob.”

“I _could_ be a Jacob.”

“Who enjoys heavy metal and gardening.”

“Everybody has a hobby.”

“Wait; are you old enough to be a doctor?”

“I’m thirty-two years old, Bond. Yes, I’m old enough to have acquired a PhD.”

“Ah, thirty-two with a PhD. Cheers, Q.”

Damn, outmaneuvered. Bond is already quite good at intelligence gathering.

“One more quip about my age and I’ll send you out into the field with nothing but cable wiring.”

“Acknowledged and not one of these aliases is thirty-two with a PhD.”

“Strange.”

“Strange indeed.”

Their computers simultaneously ping. They read the message quickly and Q can hear Bond already moving. Q pulls up a map that is the maze of New Dehli’s streets.

“There’s no time to take the stairs, you’ll have to scale out the window.”

“Copy that.”

00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q

Q lies in the bath fully submerged in the water, breathing through his gills. With all of his tentacles unfurled and floating, Q contemplates his relationship with Bond.

Q had tried. He really did try not to sleep with Bond.

But Bond had stood there, post-mission in the after-hours looking old and haggard (read: pathetic, actually) and what was Q to do?

Besides, Q had already rejected him twice before. The first time was right after Bond had passed his tests, for real. Mallory had grounded him and told him in unequivocal terms that Bond must pass his tests or he was fired.

So Bond passed his tests and showed up in Q-branch looking all giddy.

“Drink? To help me celebrate,” Bond asked.

Q smiled at him and gestured at his project, “I have work.”

“It’s Friday, Q. Surely even MI6 Quartermasters take breaks.”

“It’s for your mission on Monday.”

Bond nodded, “I’ll leave you to it then,” and left.

The second time was at the shooting range. Non-field operatives go to log practice hours and field operatives go to test new gun models.

Bond stepped up behind Q, framing his body to correct his stance. Thankfully, Bond kept a respectful distance or else Q would have said something embarrassing like ‘is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’

Q hit the target dead on and Bond smiled at him.

“Congratulations. Drink? It’ll help you relax.”

Q politely declined.

The third time—well, there was no third time. Bond got the hint and stopped asking. It was Q who invited Bond back to his apartment.

“Just the radio then? Very well, put it on the tray there.”

Q heard some soft steps on the stone floor and a gentle clink as Bond placed the radio on the stainless steel tray, but no answering quip.

Q looked up then and noticed the bleary eyes, the rumpled suit, and the five o’clock shadow. Bond never looked anything but his very best at all times and to see him like this reminded Q of Bond’s appearance when they had first met at the art gallery.

“Dinner?” Q asked before he thought better of it.

Bond blinked, slightly surprised, and then said, “Sure.”

When they got to the restaurant, they discovered that it was jam packed. Not wanting to wait an hour for a table, they got take out and brought it back to Q’s place to eat.

They ate at Q’s kitchen table, conversation and banter growing easier and easier between them as Q’s cats wound themselves between their feet.

The only hiccup they had that evening was when Bond wandered over to the fireplace and picked up a framed photograph of a smiling Q as a boy and his bearer building a train set, Christmas tree and wrapping paper in the background.

“Did your mother take this?”

“I don’t have a mother.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s true, Q doesn’t have a mother. He has a bearer and a sire, his family is entirely made up of males. His sire had taken that picture the year before he died.

When the hour turned late, Bond took Q up on his offer to stay and then took Q to bed.

Q had never been so thoroughly shagged.

Q knows this because he turned colour in the two times he came that night. The first time it was too dark for Bond to see Q slip in to camouflage by instinct, skin matching the bedsheets. The second time it was too bright for Bond to notice that Q had literally turned his colouring to match sunshine.

Two days later, they sat in a pre-mission meeting together with M (the new one), Moneypenny, and a couple of other agents.

Bond eye-fucked him throughout most of it.

Bond was subtle about it but not subtle enough because Moneypenny noticed and she waggled her eyebrows at Q as Bond approached him after the meeting.

“Q. Let me walk you down to your office.”

“Certainly, 007. Can I help you with something?”

“You most absolutely can.”

When they were out of everybody’s earshot, Bond leaned in close and said, “I want you. Right now. Do you want me?”

“Gods, yes.”

Bond took a hold of Q’s elbow and steered him in to an out-of-the-way supply closet.

Once inside, they undressed in record speed and lacking proper protection supplies (oh, the irony) they did what they do best: Improvise.

Q wrapped his legs around Bond’s waist and could do nothing else but cling as Bond curled one big hand around the both of them and stroked them to completion.

In the pitch black, Q had let his tentacles writhe all they want, the markings slithering and crawling within the confines of his skin.

Afterwards, if anybody had noticed that their clothing was a bit dusty, they didn’t say anything.

Q is half hard in the water and his other two sex organs begin to take interest. He supposes he has time for a leisurely wank while fantasizing about Bond. Now Q doesn’t even have to imagine, he can _recall_ and goodness, he has so much material to work with.

Three of Q’s thinnest tentacles wrap themselves around his cocks, gently squeezing and fondling while his mind continues to drift.

Five days later, Bond returned from his joint mission in the dead of the night and reported directly to Q-branch with _all_ of his equipment intact.

Q rewarded Bond’s good behaviour by showing him the car that Q had been tinkering with for the better part of the day.

Bond demonstrated his appreciation by bending Q over said car.

Bond began with Q’s back, kissing and licking a meandering path, sometimes on Q’s large tentacles, sometimes along the spine, all the while caressing and touching.

The first kiss in the small of Q’s back, right at the start of one of Q’s tentacles, made Q shudder. A long lick across the arch of the back waist made Q tremble, his tentacles threatening to spill. The base was extremely sensitive and it felt like Bond had touched the deepest part of Q.

Then Bond seemed to have a single-minded fascination with Q’s markings, running large hands over the globes of Q’s buttocks and down the back of Q’s legs to the ankles. Bond worked his way up from the bottom, tracing and mapping with questing fingertips and lavishing with lips and tongue, tasting.

Q kept his cheek pressed against the cool metal of the hood. It was a good thing that he was mostly on top of the car because there was no way that he could have held his own weight under the onslaught of pleasure. Q could feel every touch, every kiss on tentacles and skin, a dual rush of sensation.

It was equal parts slow seduction and worship and it had Q whimpering and moaning, breath fogging up the metallic surface.

When Bond finally made his way back up, Q was hard and rutting gently against the car but stilled when he felt Bond part his buttocks. There was a draft of cool air and then a rush of warmth as Bond licked a wet line from testicle to tailbone.

Q gasped, surprised and aroused. It was a good thing he had showered.

Then Bond did it again before seriously rimming Q, tongue lashing and leading the assault on Q’s hole.

Q did his best not to push back but it was difficult when everything felt so _good_ and _please_ and _fuck_.

Bond suddenly let up and Q instantly felt bereft.

“No, don’t go.”

When Bond covered Q’s body with his, Q realized that Bond was still fully clothed.

Bond practically emanated heat and felt deliciously heavy as he growled in Q’s ear, “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”

Bond pressed his clothed erection against Q’s bum and groaned when Q pushed back.

Then Bond bodily hauled them upwards to standing.

“I want to see you when I fuck you.”

Bond opened the door to the car and said, “Get in and fix the seats.”

Once inside, Q fumbled with the controls while Bond got undressed in a hurry.

Bond tossed condoms and lube in the passenger seat and then crowded Q in the driver’s seat.

“I’m going to make a mess of you, Q.”

Q toys with his nipples as his slimmest tentacles continue to squeeze and stroke his three cocks.

Bond certainly made good on his promise and they had a good go at it until they slipped and Bond sat on the horn. Q smiles at the memory.

Then there was the kissing which Q is certain shifted their relationship into something more intimate. And not only did Bond kiss like a demon, he sucked cock like one too.

When Bond had mouthed the markings of Q’s additional cocks on his inner thighs— _Lord_ , it was electrifying.

Q moans in the water as the tips of his medium-sized tentacles start a suction on the head of his cocks, mimicking Bond’s actions.

Q had thoroughly enjoyed being pinned down as Bond ploughed into him. Maybe one day Bond will let Q return the favour. Let all four of Q’s largest tentacles wrap themselves around each of Bond’s limbs and hold Bond’s legs opened and arms above his head while Q fucks all three of his cocks into him, smaller tentacles touching and caressing.

Some of Q’s tentacles rise from the water, instinctively seeking for something that isn’t there. Q consciously reigns them back in and they obey reluctantly.

They’re getting harder and harder to control with each sexual encounter. They seem dead set on choosing Bond as mate. Q can feel the phantom writhing of his tentacles inside his body every time he comes, constantly reaching. Since Q can’t let his tentacle markings move in the light where Bond would see, all the potential movement is trapped inside. Sometimes they twist and wind together so tightly that Q chokes on the energy and can no longer contain it.

That energy manifests as slipping in to camouflage, or his markings moving, or his tentacles spilling from the markings on his skin as they did in the car.

The tentacles on his ankles had actually _lifted_ from his skin, ink turned into matter in a split second, while the markings on the rest of his body had crawled and slithered.

Q covers his face with his hands and groans. He had been terrified that Bond had seen Q’s momentary loss of control. They had dim lighting that night in the garage but it wasn’t completely dark like that time in the closet. Luckily, Bond didn’t seem to have noticed as he was in the throes of his own orgasm.

Will Bond accept Q for who and what he is?

Q can picture the horrified expression on Bond’s face if he finds out. Q is fairly certain that Bond will shoot first and ask questions later.

Still hiding behind his hands, Q groans again. Bond may seem fascinated and intrigued by Q’s markings which Bond mistakes for tattoos but the idea that Bond will happily accept or want Q’s extra bits seems too far-fetched.

Q sighs to himself, a bit despondent. He should never have asked Bond out for dinner and just let things die down. Bond had stopped asking, he had been losing interest. Q could have lived without his company. It wasn’t like Q had never dated before or was a virgin wanting to lose it to an experienced lover, but it had been so long and Bond's attention was so damned flattering.

Q is quite embarrassed of himself. Just because one enigmatic man shows interest it does not mean that he's mate material. But there’s something about James Bond, Agent 007, British spy and assassin extraordinaire that made every cell in his body _sing_. Q had felt it when he shook Bond’s hand at their first meeting. Bond is a compatible match; he can be turned into one of Q’s kind.

But no, Q needs to stop this before it gets any more out of hand. Before it becomes unprofessional or worse he’ll make a mistake that—

Then abruptly, Q’s sentry tentacle detects a change in the electromagnetic currents. There’s someone in his home.

Q emerges from the water silently, two tentacles already extended to reach the Walther taped under the sink.

Gun now in hand, his tentacles disappear onto his body where they please in the blink of an eye. He has the gun ready and pointed at the door just before it swings open.

“Stop or I’ll shoot.”

The intruder stops short in the doorway. There’s a brief standoff.

“Do you always carry a gun with you to the bath?”

It was Bond. _Speak of the devil_.

Q relaxes and puts the safety back on the gun then bites out, “Yes.”

“I highly approve.”

Q squints and it brings Bond’s form into sharper focus. He has Lovelace in his arms with Kepler at his feet.

“You’re back early.”

“Jaspreet Singh died quickly.”

“How did you get in?”

Bond simply raises his eyebrows as if saying _I'm a spy_.

“Oh, right.”

Bond peers in to the clear water of the tub, eyeing Q’s now soft penis.

“Were you masturbating?”

“I _was_ before you interrupted.”

“Oh, sorry,” says Bond, who does not sound the least bit sorry. “Well, don’t come yet. I’ve got plans for that.”

Bond winks and Q thinks maybe one more round of sex as a goodbye. He can allow himself that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this read as a filler chapter, then yes it is. This was the best way to introduce the magical element and tie the rest of the story together.
> 
> On Q's cats:  
> \- Lovelace is named after Ada Lovelace, the first computer programmer. She's a grey, stripped tabby and her coat mimics lines of code.  
> \- Kepler is named after Johannes Kepler, a mathematician and astronomer who discovered the laws of planetary motion. He's a calico with brown and black spots on a white coat and it reminds Q of planets.  
> \- I almost went with Turing for the second cat but everybody else named Q's cats after Alan Turing so I thought Kepler would be a nice change. Q is a nerd like me who likes math and physics as well.
> 
> As always this work is un-beta'ed. There are two weeks left to school before the start of final exams so the next chapter will be a while.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos (if you haven't done so already) feed the Muse and keeps her horny and happy.


	4. Things Left Unsaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very late. Unfortunately real life got in the way of writing. I also wrote myself into a corner thrice, multiple pages had to be deleted and re-written, and then writer’s block happened. Anyhow, here is my smutty apology. This chapter features felching like whoa. Please heed the tags. As always, any mistakes are mine.

There’s a paper bag on Q’s counter with a note taped to it that says, “For: Q, From: J.”

Bond brought him back a gift. From India.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Q opens the bag and he can smell the flavours and spices before he even sees it.

It’s loose-leaf Masala Chai and Earl Grey packaged in their own slender paper bags.

Q takes out all the necessary equipment necessary to brew Chai the proper way. He lets the leaves steep in the milk while he makes himself a snack.

The first sip of Chai makes Q want to moan in pleasure. So he does and wonders if the Earl Grey will be just as good. He’ll brew some in the morning, content with the Chai for now.

As Q settles down to eat his eggs on toast, he speculates whether Bond bought the tea before or after he tried to look up Q’s file. Q’s not at all offended that Bond tried to look him up since Q certainly looked Bond up before they met. Q’s merely baffled as to why it took him so long. But then again, Bond has been busy and probably just didn’t have the time.

Q really has to break things off before Bond finds out the truth about him, but Bond’s thoughtful gesture is making it harder for Q to do so.

Bond thought about him. In India.

No, this has to stop before it gets out of hand. Q has built a career for himself and works at a job that he loves. He’s living the life that he’s always wanted to live: on land and in the open. One mistake could destroy everything and he can’t…

Q stops mid-chew when he sees Bond emerging from the bathroom in nothing but a towel.

…he can’t even.

Good Lord, Bond’s physique is a sight to behold. His muscles are toned and his skin is decorated with scars but it’s tanned golden which speaks of much time spent outdoors.

Q has become so engrossed in watching Bond sauntering down the hall towards him, towel tied low on his hips, that Q misses the fork to his mouth. It grazes his chin and Bond clearly saw that because he smirks and makes the last few steps slower and a little more exaggerated.

Cocky bastard, Q thinks as he dabs his chin with a napkin. Cocky _beautiful_ bastard.

Bond is standing so close now that Q is eye-level with Bond’s abs. Jesus, look at that body.

“See something you like?” Bond drawls.

Q tears his eyes away and tilts his head back to look up at a smiling Bond.

“Very much so.”

Bond braces himself against the table and the back of Q’s chair, leaning down until he can kiss Q. It’s a gentle and lingering peck on the lips and the best hello kiss that Q has ever experienced.

“Do you like the tea?”

Bond must have smelled the Chai on his breath.

“Mm-hmm,” hums Q in agreement who then says conspiratorially, “It’s from India.”

Bond chuckles. “Yes, from India.”

Wanting to show his appreciation, Q pulls Bond in for another kiss. This time with more pressure and a teasing lick on Bond’s lips before Q withdraws.

“You shouldn’t have.”

Bond’s gaze is heated now and flickers down to Q’s lips then back up to Q’s eyes.

Bond practically growls, “Anything for you.”

Then Bond captures Q’s lips with his, tongue licking insistently at the seam until Q opens his mouth slightly and Bond is instantly in, demanding and searching. If you give Bond an inch, he’ll seize a mile but he’s a generous conqueror who gives back as much as he takes.

Bond nips and pulls on Q’s bottom lip and it sends a thrill to the pit of Q’s stomach, arousing and exhilarating, turning Q’s brain to mush.

“Especially when you taste this good with it.”

Q has no recollection of what Bond is referring to but his voice sounds nice and gravelly.

Bond runs a hand down Q’s clothed back until he reaches the hem. He slips his hand under Q’s shirt and glides light fingertips along the back of Q’s waist, caressing where Q’s tentacle markings begin, making Q shudder and twitch. Bond has very talented hands and an excellent memory for all of Q’s erogenous zones.

“Come to bed.”

Q doesn’t need to be asked twice. He surges to his feet and finally allows himself to touch Bond’s fantastic body, thumbs rubbing circles over his nipples, making Bond moan.

Bond tugs Q closer to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry. Bond nudges Q’s head to the side to expose the neck. He gently bites down on the tendon then soothes it with his tongue and _ngh_. When Bond sucks a hickie that will definitely need to be covered tomorrow, Q never imagined that the sharp rasp of stubble and scrape of teeth could feel this good.

Bond quickly strips Q of his shirt and Q’s hands immediately come back to land on Bond’s torso, following Bond’s treasure trail to the towel. Q unwraps the towel like he’s unwrapping a Christmas gift, eager with anticipation, and reveals Bond at half-mast, growing with interest.

Q licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry with want, and starts to bend down only to be promptly hauled up.

“None of that or I’ll have you over the table.”

Q doesn’t whine, exactly, when he says, “You’ve had me in a car. How would this be any different?”

“I have plans. Here, let me.”

Bond pulls down Q’s sweatpants and underwear, careful of the erection currently tenting Q’s pants. Bond helps Q step out of the puddle of clothing and when he looks up from his crouched position, Bond realizes he’s eye-level with Q’s cock. Q can see Bond lick his own lips and start to lean in.

Q grabs Bond by the short hairs on his head.

“None of that or we won’t get to your plans.”

Bond completely disregards Q, of course he does, and changes the angle of his approach and aims for the waist.

All Bond does is nuzzle the base of Q’s tentacles and it’s got Q panting and moaning loud enough that the neighbours could hear.

Bond traces blunt fingernails up the two large tentacles on Q’s upper body as he rises. When Bond gets to the top, Q grabs him by the back of the neck and kisses him hard.

Bond reaches down and hoists Q up by the arse. Q naturally wraps his arms and legs around Bond.

 _My, he’s strong_ , thinks Q as he’s being carried to the bedroom. He wonders if all natural-borns like him generally fall for brutish, burly men like Bond. His bearer certainly did.

Q can feel Bond’s erection nestled in the crack of his arse and he can’t help but wriggle against it.

They sway as Bond goes slightly weak in the knees. Q laughs, basking in this small power he has over Bond. Then Q feels a sharp slap on his buttocks and damn, that stings!

“Stop that or I’ll drop you.”

Unheeding of Bond’s warning, Q wriggles again.

“That’s rather the idea, Mr. Bond.”

“Your wish is my command.”

They’ve finally reached the bed and Bond gently tosses Q onto it.

“And it’s James.”

“James,” says Q, correcting himself.

The effect on Bond is immediate.

The piercing blue of Bond’s eyes turn tender and warm and he smiles, just a quirk of the lips and it makes Q’s foolish heart stutter a beat.

Bond props himself up on hands and knees over Q and leans down for a soft, chaste kiss.

“Say it again.”

“James.”

Bond kisses Q like he’s made of porcelain, drinking and savouring that one word from Q’s lips.

Bond touches his forehead to Q’s, eyes shut, head bowed, and jaws clenched tight.

Mildly concerned, Q places his hand on Bond’s cheek, warm and healing.

“James? Are you alright?”

Bond opens his eyes and the glow of the lamp light plays with the blue of his irises. To Q, it’s the shade of fresh-water cerulean meet the sky blue of a clear, sunny day and it reminds Q of home.

After a long while, Bond nods and kisses Q, delicate and soft.

Something in their…relationship changed. Q can feel it but can’t discern what it is.

Bond nudges Q and Q scoots up to the head of the bed, Bond crawling after him.

Bond takes off Q’s glasses, folds them neatly, and places them on the nightstand. Then he rustles around in the drawer and pulls out the lube.

Q opens his legs expectantly. Bond shakes his head and in one smooth roll, switches their positions.

“I want you in me tonight.”

Q’s not floored by the request exactly, more like surprised (and excited). It’s never _not_ happened before; it’s just such a rare occasion that Q is always amazed when his partners ask.

Q reaches for a condom from the drawer and Bond stops him.

“No barriers. Just you and me.”

Q looks at Bond and then freezes, mouth open, slack with shock. _No barriers?! Did he just…?_

Bond continues saying, “I’m clean. I trust that you’re clean too, yes?”

_Does Bond know what he’s asking for?_

Bond leans up and whispers something truly _filthy_ to Q and it barely filters through above the static noise ringing in his ears.

Bond just asked Q to place all of his trust in him; it’s tantamount to a marriage proposal.

_Gods above._

Bond proposes to Q and has no _inkling_ that he’s done so.

“Q?”

Is Q ready for a happily ever after? _No._

Is Bond? Bloody hell, definitely _no_.

Does Q want Bond? Emphatically _yes_.

Does Q love Bond? … Infatuated, yes. Love? … Not yet.

Oh, but it would be so easy to fall in love with Bond.

_One to yearn._

The first line of the little rhyme comes back to Q now.

“Q?”

_One to yearn._

And Q would definitely be in love then. It would only be on Q’s part, Bond wouldn’t be affected.

If it doesn’t work out, then they part ways and Q’s feelings will fade with time. So long as they don’t get to _Two to Learn_ then Q will be fine. No mental link or anything that will irreparably connect him to Bond.

On the other hand, if they do get to the second line, then that would be even better.

Q must have taken too long to think because Bond props himself up on an elbow and regards Q with a serious face.

Bond says, “It’s alright, we don’t have to,” while Q says, “Yes,” at the same time.

They look at each other, one still astonished and the other confused.

“Yes?” Bond inquires.

“Yes,” Q replies, confident.

“You’re sure?”

Q nods, “Absolutely.”

“Because you took a long time to respond.”

Q presses his erection against Bond’s hip

“Would I feel like _this_ if I wasn’t sure?”

Bond murmurs, “I suppose not.”

Bond looks down at the point of contact and Q can see the sweep of his eyelashes. Q has never noticed how long they are until now. Entirely captivated, Q leans in and kisses Bond’s brow, then lower on his eyelid, feather-light and soft. Yes, it would be very easy to fall in love with Bond.

Q continues kissing down one side of Bond’s face while pressing him back onto the pillows.

Bond goes willingly with a lecherous leer. He reaches down to wrap a hand around Q.

“That’s a rather _large_ problem you have there, Jacob.”

Q’s groan encompasses the bad pun, the name, and the sinfully delightful little twists that Bond is making with his hand.

“No? Cameron then.”

Ah, so Bond has deduced his alter ego but Q is going to neither confirm nor deny it and rocks into Bond’s hand.

“I really prefer Q.”

“Then that’s what I’ll be shouting when you fuck me.”

Q’s cock pulses and twitches at that.

“Won’t get to do much fucking if you don’t stop that.”

Bond’s grip loosens instantly. He swipes a finger through the pre-come beading at the tip then winks at Q as he licks the moisture from his hand.

“Mm, can’t wait to taste the rest of it.”

Tearing his eyes away from that erotic sight, Q looks at the broad expanse of the bronzed chest before him instead. Bond may not have markings like Q ( _yet_ and Q was not quick enough to suppress that thought, rutting harder into Bond’s hip) but he does have many scars, enough for Q to soothe with kisses and licks.

Q goes from the one on Bond’s right pectoral, to the one below the sternum, to half a dozen more that Q can see, some white and faded with age and some darker and more recent. They speak of Bond’s loyalty, his dedication to Queen and country.

They also remind Q of just how quickly life can be taken away.

 _But he’s here_ , Q tells himself as he nuzzles the base Bond’s erection and breathes in the musk of virile man.

Q looks up at Bond to see him lazily watching back.

_He’s right here._

Q pushes Bond’s legs up and has Bond hold them by the crease behind his knees.

_And I’ll protect him with everything I have._

Then Q licks Bond from tailbone to testicle in one smooth, wet line, making Bond moan. Q may not have a lot of experience being on top, but he does have a lot of experience preparing himself. Mostly with tentacles rather than with fingers and tongue but Q can learn, and he can follow Bond’s previous example.

Q circles his tongue around the pucker of Bond’s hole, wetting it as much as possible while his hands caress Bond’s thighs, arousing, enticing. Q alternates between prodding, pointed licks and long, broad sweeps to get Bond relaxed and loose.

Q has never imagined that Bond could be quite so vocal while being rimmed, but he is and demands, “ _More_ ,” or shouts, “ _Fuck, yes_!”

When Q deems Bond to be wet enough, he tests it with a forefinger and slips in easily to the first knuckle before it’s tight again. Bond hisses slightly and lobs the lube at Q’s head.

“Use that.”

“Ah, yes. Sorry.”

Q pours out a generous amount and warms it up between his hands the way he remembers Bond doing on their first night before smearing it over Bond’s anus. Q tests it again and sighs in relief as the whole digit slides in smoothly.

Q tells Bond to let go of his knees and Bond complies, feet planted firmly on the bed bracketing Q.

Q moves up slightly, breath warming the beautifully erect cock in front of him. He doesn’t have to look up to know that Bond’s watching him, but Q does anyway. He wants to see Bond’s reaction when Q demonstrates that he too does not have a gag reflex.

It’s the best reaction Q could have ever hoped for.

Bond clenches down on the finger still in him and gasps audibly, “Fuck. Q.”

Q sucks Bond with ease and expertise; Q has had a _lot_ of practice with his tentacles. He works mouth, tongue, and hand on Bond as he slides in the second, and then the third finger, making Bond groan loudly in pleasure with every stroke.

By now, the neighbours have definitely heard them, or more specifically Bond.

Q starts up a rhythm of fingers in and sucking the tip, fingers out and deep throating Bond. Pretty soon, Bond picks up the pattern and oscillates between fucking Q’s fingers and thrusting into Q’s mouth.

Then Bond’s frantically pushing at Q’s forehead and panting.

“Enough.”

Q feels himself being hauled up by the armpits.

“Now,” Bond demands urgently, “In me. Now.”

Q is quick to obey and tries to lift Bond’s legs but to no avail. Bond pushes a bottle into Q’s hands.

“More lube first.”

“Right. Yes.”

Q squeezes out an ample measure and slicks up himself then the outside of Bond’s hole. Placing a hand next to Bond’s head, Q lines them up and looks down in to Bond’s eyes.

Bond looks back and nods. He grunts as Q pushes the head in past the two anal rings.

Once fully seated, Q stops, gritting his teeth against the fluttering sensation pressing around his cock as Bond adjusts to the intrusion.

“Alright?”

Bond blows out a shaky breath. “Give me a second,” he says then shifts into a more comfortable position.

Q tells Bond in a strangled voice, “Take as much time as you need,” but prays that it won’t be long.

To help Bond along, Q circles a hand around Bond’s softening length. A few tugs and strokes later, Bond gasps and starts to wiggle, making Q grit his teeth all the harder.

Bond wraps his legs around Q and takes over Q’s ministration on his cock and says, “Go. Slowly.”

Q thanks his lucky stars as he plants both hands on either side of Bond’s head. Q bends down in a half push-up and kisses Bond’s lips lightly in thanks.

Then Q pulls his hips back an inch before sinking inside again, watching as discomfort, puzzlement, lust, and pleasure flit across Bond’s face in a matter of seconds.

Inch by growing inch Q does this, rearing back and then pushing in, Bond’s body alternating between reluctance at letting Q go, and resistance at letting Q in. It’s a wonderful contradiction and it makes Q pant with want and need.

When Q has only the head of his cock left inside (which wow, that’s tight at the rings), he drives back in hard enough to jolt Bond upwards.

Bond himself gives a full-throated, guttural groan, “ _Oh_ , like that.”

So Q does it again, vision whitening at the edges before it clears again as he charges back in.

Bond cries out, “Yes!”

Q looks down at Bond’s face, gone are the winces and grimaces. Now it’s slack with pleasure, a fine sheen of sweat dotting the hairline, and blue, blue eyes half-lidded with satisfaction.

It’s too much for Q to handle.

“I’m close,” rasps Q.

He’s absolutely bollocks at this and wants to hide his face in to Bond’s neck.

Bond pulls Q down by back of his head with a free hand and kisses Q with a force that’s hard enough to bruise.

“Me too. Fuck me.”

With a command like that, Q follows instinct and starts up a rhythm of quick, shallow half thrusts and ah, that’s good.

Q can feel his tentacles begin to tremble inside. When he comes, he’s going to lose control of them, so he lowers his head until they’re seeing eye-to-eye, making sure to block out Bond’s view of his markings.

Bond pulls Q down further by the nape until their foreheads are touching, intimate.

Bond’s other hand is still down there, fisting his cock. Occasionally he would reach further down and gingerly feel around the stretched rim of where they’re connected. The sensual brush of fingers against his cock nearly has Q coming undone.

A particularly angled thrust makes Bond buck up hard enough to almost unseat Q.

“There!” Bond shouts.

Oh, it seems like Q has found Bond’s prostate. Q re-positions them and does it again.

Bond lets out a short scream. “Fuck me right there!”

Q succumbs to instinct and thrusts again and again into Bond while he babbles a string of incoherent phrases. Mostly, _yes, fuck, Q, more Q, don’t stop_.

Q couldn’t have possibly stopped even if he tried.

Being this close, Q can clearly see the thin blue ring of Bond’s irises and Q knows he’s home. He’s going to be able to see his home-away-from home whenever Bond is near and he can build a life, a future with this man, this beautiful, beautiful man.

“James,” Q whispers.

Bond whines and throws his head back as he comes, anal muscles clenching down hard on Q’s cock, entire body spasming. Q groans and follows immediately afterwards, continuing to thrust as he orgasms, shooting into Bond.

Vision whitening, Q loses all control of his tentacles and his markings slither and writhe across his skin in a dance of triumph.

_Mate. Mate. Mate._

Some of the thinner tentacles make a break for it from his skin while he’s distracted, but Q has anticipated this and contains them. They hiss at him and wind tighter together. Q mentally shrugs at them.

When Q comes down from his orgasmic high, he becomes aware of two things: the sound of Bond’s steady heartbeat and the feeling of his own slightly faster pulse.

Q’s bearer never told him about this development. Hopefully he can turn it off so he can concentrate on other things in the future, like fulfilling Bond’s wish, for example.

A quick peek tells Q that Bond still has his eyes closed. Taking advantage of the moment, Q quickly rearranges his markings to their normal places.

Then taking a longer look down at Bond, Q has never seen him so relaxed, the lines on his face almost all disappeared, making him look boyish.

Kissing Bond gently on the lips, Q asks, “You ready?”

Bond hums in agreement.

Q pulls out and Bond’s only reaction is an increased heart rate which Q takes as excitement for what’s to come.

As Q makes his way down, he notices how much of a mess Bond made of their chests and torsos. Q sneaks a taste, tongue lapping up the white fluid dotting Bond’s stomach. It’s warm, salty, and bitter, with a hint of sweetness.

Then he parts Bond’s legs and watches as his own semen ooze out of Bond. Q smiles and feels something primal and satisfied settle in him to see Bond marked as his.

Q licks up the amount of semen that overflowed and Bond sobs, feeling sensitive. Q swallows, moaning, loving their combined tastes. Then he sucks out as much as he can of what’s left while Bond whimpers, hands clenching the bedsheets.

Q holds the fluid in his mouth as he ascends, licking a glob of Bond’s semen high up on Bond’s chest along the way.

Q fits himself over Bond and lowers his mouth to Bond’s like a bird to its chick. Bond licks impatiently at the closed seam of Q’s lips and then moans happily when he tastes the first drop.

They kiss, tongues twisting and twinning together, sharing in their combined tastes.

When the last of it is gone, Bond leans back with contented sigh.

“Perfect,” he says, “That was perfect. I—”

Q can hear Bond’s heart suddenly race as he cuts off.

“Thank you,” Bond finishes, simply.

“You’re welcome,” Q says as he gets out of bed, “I’ll be right back.”

Q can hear Bond’s heartbeat taper off again. Wiping himself down, Q wonders what Bond was going to say. The spike was unusual but Q’s not going to press the issue, wouldn’t want Bond to get suspicious of Q’s new ability.

Q returns with a wet cloth and wakes Bond from a light doze as he wipes away the drying come.

“You take such good care of me.”

“Of course.”

Finished, Q gets up to go but Bond catches him by the wrist.

“May I stay?”

Q smiles. “Please do.”

Q brushes his teeth, preferring the taste of toothpaste over semen. Felching was a hot, new experience for Q, but the bitter aftertaste was decidedly not.

Q returns again with an empty bowl, some mouthwash, and a tall glass of water.

“I brought you something.”

Bond blinks his eyes open at the sound of Q’s voice, sees the items in Q’s hands, and groans.

“Come on,” Q cajoles, “You’ll feel like something died in your mouth tomorrow otherwise.”

“They’re already dead,” Bond says drily.

Q can’t help but laugh at the bad joke. Still, he’ll keep trying.

“Please, James?”

Bond huffs, clearly not wanting to get up but he does so anyway and rinses out his mouth.

“Thank you,” Q says, walking away again with the dirty dishes.

“Hurry back,” Bond calls after him.

Q does hurry back, not wanting to be away from Bond for too long; being separated by such a short amount of time and distance made Q feel a bit anxious.

Q climbs into what is now “his” side of the bed and luxuriates in the sensation of high thread count bedsheets against his skin. Sleeping in the nude is another new experience since he started sleeping with Bond. Q’s markings brush the sheets as he moves around and he shivers in delight.

“Cold?” Bond asks before turning to face Q and draw him into his arms, cuddling close.

He’s not really cold but he’ll take the excuse anyway and tangle his legs with Bond. Q will definitely not be cold for the rest of the night seeing as how Bond emanates heat like a furnace while asleep.

In the ensuing moments, Q becomes aware first of Bond’s breathing, then the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Soon, the sound his breathing is surpassed by his pulse, heart beating slower and discordant to Q’s own.

So Q _can_ ignore Bond’s heartbeat if he wants to; that’s convenient.

Bond has given Q something precious and the idea that Q hasn’t really given anything significant in return sits uneasily with him.

Laying a hand over the centre of Bond’s chest, Q reckons that he can gift the agent with something equally precious.

“Alistair Samuel Callum.”

Q said it so quietly that he’s not sure if Bond heard but then he feels Bond drop a kiss onto the top of his head and hug him closer.

In the comforting embrace of his lover’s arms, Q falls asleep to the lullaby of Bond’s heartbeat, his own now synced and keeping pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my head cannon that Bond really likes face-to-face, vanilla sex but has some kinks ;) 
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be posted and I don't want to make a promise that I can't keep. School starts up again on Monday and I'm the new class president (yay!) so between classes and organizing events, I'll somehow find time to write.
> 
> Anyway, happy new year! If you enjoy what you've read so far, please leave kudos or a comment. They feed the forever hungry muse.


	5. Self-Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Are people still reading this? Warning for mild mention of miscarriage in this chapter.

In the light of early dawn, Bond wakes with MI6’s resident Quartermaster sprawled over him, thigh nudging his morning wood. Bond briefly entertains the idea of waking Q for another round of sex but then thinks better of it when he moves.

Bond feels sore in places that haven’t been sore in a long time. Best not.

After carefully extricating himself from Q’s embrace, Bond pads quietly to the bathroom.

He relieves his bladder then brushes his teeth with a toothbrush and rinse cup that have been designated as his on the first night he stayed over.

Maybe they can have a permanent place next to Q’s on the counter and, if Q is amenable, see more use than once every two weeks.

Two weeks. _God._

They’ve been having sex for only two weeks and Bond has been away at work for the majority of those days.

Half of the time he was thinking about Q, wondering what he was doing, if he was eating properly, if he was happy.

Bond didn’t mean to think about Q. Stray thoughts like that just happened and they were dangerous.

Bond yanks on the handle to turn on the shower and moodily waits for the water to warm.

Case in point: he almost lost sight of his target in New Delhi because he wasn’t giving the job his full attention. If Bond hadn’t been successful at killing his target then thousands of people would have died.

After that blunder, Bond made a conscious effort to not think about Q, or at least not until he finished his job.

Bond acted like a lovesick schoolboy with a crush and it was fucking unprofessional.

Stepping into the shower, he lets the spray of hot water wash away his shame and vows to gain better control of his thoughts. He has to; too many people depend on him.

There’s no time like the present to tear off the Band-Aid.

In love— _Christ_ , this is difficult.

He’s in love with Q.

_Alistair_ , Bond corrects himself. His name is Alistair. Smart, witty, sexy-as-hell Alistair.

Bond almost told him that he loves him last night. Right after Alistair fulfilled his fantasy. Bond groans and closes his eyes against that disastrous image. There is no way that confession would have gone well.

Bond takes comfort in the fact that it took him longer to fall in love this time as opposed to the last.

Also compared to Vesper, Alistair was fully vetted by M (the previous one), MI:6, _and_ MI:5. Alistair jumped through hoops and passed every clearance level to get to where he is right now. Bond knows, he remembers what it took to become a double-oh.

Why then, does Bond keep waiting for the other shoe to drop?

Because the last time he found a measure of happiness, it was ripped away from him shortly afterwards.

It wasn’t so much the betrayal that hurt; it was losing someone he loved that made him feel gutted.

What was that saying? Once bitten, twice shy?

He cannot go through that again.

Bond should just let Q go before it’s too late, before the other shoe _does_ drop. Something terrible is coming his way. Every instinct has been screaming at him and he can’t shake the deep sense of foreboding.

He steps out of the shower and towels himself dry before padding back into the bedroom.

Q—no, Alistair, damn it—is sitting up in bed with his glasses on, scowling at his laptop. His hair is a mess and sticking up every which way. It’s adorable. There is no feasible way for Bond to let this man go.

“In what part of the world are you laying damage to with your laptop so early in the morning?”

Alistair looks up and smiles. Bond’s heart skips a beat.

“Nowhere in particular. Just reports,” replies Alistair. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. A little sore but it’s okay.”

“That’s good.”

Bond steps over next to Alistair and leans down to kiss him. Alistair turns his head with a noise of objection and the kiss lands on his cheek.

“What’s the matter?” Bond asks.

“Morning breath.”

“I don’t care, Alistair.”

Alistair scrunches his nose. “Please call me Q.”

Oh, thank goodness. Bond would not have adjusted to calling Q by ‘Alistair’ any time soon.

“Q. May I kiss you now?”

Q nods his head in assent and Bond leans in to kiss him properly, full on the lips with a little bit of tongue.

Bond murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Mm,” Q sighs happily, “Morning.”

Bond steps closer and cards his hands through Q’s mop of hair. Q wraps his arms around Bond and presses his face in to Bond’s stomach.

They stay like that for a while as Bond tries and fails to put some semblance of order to Q’s bed head. At this point there’s no hiding the fact that Bond is just playing with Q’s hair. It doesn’t matter. Q seems to be enjoying his ministrations judging by the contented sighs and little face rubs in to Bond’s abdomen. Again, it’s adorable…and slightly arousing.

Q toys with the towel wrapped around Bond’s waist then looks up. “Would you mind terribly if I sucked you off?”

Bond hardens even more at Q’s question. “Uh, no.”

Q breathes, “Good,” then shuts the lid to the laptop and tosses it to the side of the bed. After placing his glasses on the nightstand, he tosses the sheets to the side as well to reveal that he is still fully nude.

Grabby hands tear away the towel then Bond is tumbled across the bed in a matter of seconds. Q must have gained some confidence during his sleep because that was impressive.

Sinking down to his knees, Q spreads Bond’s thighs wide open and without much further ado, sucks him down to the root, eliciting a startled groan from Bond.

Q doesn’t even pause for air when Bond stiffens and swells to full length, rocking steadily into Q’s warm and welcoming mouth.

Q may be inexperienced in fucking but he’s practically a professional at fellatio.

Bond has enough blood left in his other, bigger brain to fondly mutter, “Fucking show off.”

Q chuckles low and dark in the back of his throat and the noise vibrates all around Bond’s cock. Any blood Bond has left flees south and his eyes roll to the back of his head in pure pleasure.

Bond curses a blue streak, interspersed with rapturous endearments and incoherent babbling like _fuck, shit. Such a good little cocksucker. Yes! More, Q. More. Suck it just like that._

Q stops at some point and Bond whines, “No. No.”

Lifting his head up, Bond looks down at Q who looks back with astounded eyes, big and round.

“Don’t stop _now_ ,” Bond growls.

Q stares at him for a few more seconds, then he sucks and swallows more ardently and fervently than before, making Bond cry out and thrust sharply, hands clenching the bedsheets.

This isn’t going to last for much longer.

Sure enough, Bond can feel his scrotum tighten in imminent orgasm and he shouts a warning.  Q’s response is to push a thumb into Bond’s perineum.

Bond makes a strangled noise as he comes, a low swooping sensation rushing through him, tipping him over the edge into freefall.

As he floats through his haze of afterglow, Bond dimly registers Q saying, “I’m going to go take a shower,” before pressing a kiss in between his eyebrows.

Bond grunts, still incapable of speech and Q huffs a laugh, warm breath ghosting his forehead.

When Bond gets his bearings, he has the previously discarded towel covering his torso and his legs are hanging off the side of the bed.

He sits up a little too quickly and yelps as he feels a sharp twinge in his ass. Smiling bemusedly to himself he thinks, _so much for not having sex_.

The shower’s still on and he wonders if Q might need a hand in washing his back, or just a hand in general to repay the wonderful morning blowjob. After all, that shower-slash-bathtub was more than big enough for two. Looking at his watch, Bond thinks probably not.

If he does join Q in the shower then they won’t have time for breakfast before going to work and Bond is more than a little determined to see Q fed. There is nothing in Q’s pantry except for the bare essentials and a large supply of pot noodles. Bond can feel the stomach ache just by looking at it.

After getting up and getting dressed in the charcoal grey suit he brought with him, Bond makes his way to the kitchen and turns on the kettle.

Something bumps into him on the side of the leg. It’s Lovelace brushing against his ankles.

Bond bends down to pet her and then sees Kepler sitting pointedly in front of a cabinet further away, meowing.

Bond walks over to open the cabinet door and finds cat food.

“Hungry, huh?” Bond asks the cats.

They meow at him as if saying ‘yes’.

Bond scoops a decent portion into their bowls and they settle down to eat.

After washing his hands, Bond makes two cups of tea with the Earl Grey leaves he brought back from India. Then he makes himself comfortable at Q’s table to drink his tea while pulling out his phone to check his messages.

Ten minutes later, Q comes into the kitchen, dressed and ready to go to work. Bond hands Q his tea and Q takes a grateful sip, humming appreciatively when he discovers that it’s fixed the way he likes it with lots of milk and too much sugar.

“Thank you for feeding my cats,” Q says. Then he muses out loud, “I should really automate that.”

Bond nods then asks, “What have you got on for today?”

Q makes a face. “A budget meeting starting at ten o’clock that’ll last well into the afternoon.”

“That doesn’t sound like fun.”

“No, especially the part where I have to request a bigger budget for Q-branch in order to fund all the equipment that isn’t brought back, and we’ve already spent millions of pounds.”

Q glares a little and Bond at least has the grace to look a little contrite.

Changing the topic, Bond says, “I was thinking we could go out for breakfast.”

“I’ve already had a protein shake,” Q says, deadpan.

Bond chuckles. “Yes, I noticed. You didn’t miss a single drop.”

Q grins, looking a little proud.

Bond continues, “I’d return the favour but I think you might have already taken care of that in the shower.”

Blushing, Q’s grin turns a bit sheepish and Bond smirks at him.

“There’s a bakery nearby that’s quite good,” Q says.

“Let’s go then.”

They walk the three blocks it takes to get to the bakery. Bond finally stops dithering halfway through and thinks, _fuck it_. He holds out his hand and internally sighs in relief when Q takes it. Bond only wishes he had snapped a picture of the way Q had beamed at him.

At the bakery, they split two large-sized croissants, one savoury and one sweet. As they chat over non-work related topics, Bond discovers that Q, like Bond, was born in Scotland.

“In the family cabin,” Q says.

“Really?” Bond asks, interested.

“Yes. I was a home birth. It’s a tradition.”

Bond nods then asks, “Does your family live in Scotland or here?”

“Dad travels but the cabin’s still there.”

“I see. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, but I was almost a big brother.”

Bond doesn’t miss the ‘almost.’ Q’s mother must have lost the baby before she died. Not wanting to make it any more awkward, Bond excuses himself to buy more pastries.

“I’m quite full,” Q says.

“Yes, so am I. This is for the R&D department.”

Q easily connects R&D of International Shipping to the Q-branch of MI6 and raises an eyebrow, “Oh?”

Smiling ruefully, Bond says, “I might have damaged some sensitive equipment on my last trip and the second-in-command was quite cross with me when I returned what was left.”

Q narrows his eyes. “Did she?”

“Yes, and if she can be that angry then I’d imagine her overlord will be worse. So I thought I would bring in something as a peace offering.”

“I don’t think R&D can be that easily won over.”

“A man can try. What do you think the department head would like?” Bond asks, looking at Q imploringly with innocence.

Q looks back at Bond for a while, impassive and resolute. Then Q sighs and rolls his eyes, “The overlord is rather partial to the chocolate tarts and the second-in-command likes cheesecake.”

Bond grins and says, “Thank you.”

“You should also get an assortment of pastries for the rest of the department. At least thirty more pastries and four dozen of those macrons.”

Q raises his eyebrows in challenge and Bond only smiles.

“Yes, Q.”

00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q

Sitting in a taxi on his way to work, Q feels like he’s on cloud nine. He’s engaged, albeit only in his head, but engaged nevertheless by his customs.

Then this morning his fiancé said _I love you_.

Bond said it in the heat of passion while getting a blowjob so there is no telling if he was serious or not.

He must have been serious, otherwise he wouldn’t have wickedly whispered, “Let’s book a day off together and spend it in bed.”

Q had quickly agreed and then he was kissed breathless before being ushered into the taxi.

Q can’t stop grinning at what had just happened as he looks out the window.

He’s so wrapped up in his own happiness that Q doesn’t see the car tailing his taxi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last porny-ish chapter until the end of the story. Prepare for plot next, whenever that will be. I make no promises regarding time.
> 
> Kudos and comments are <3!


	6. Getting Some Answers

Arriving into MI6, Bond makes a detour to Mallory’s office.

“Good morning, Moneypenny. My, you look ravishing today,” Bond says, flirting because it’s expected of him. Plus, he wants her to do something.

“Bond. You’re not looking too bad yourself,” Moneypenny says, flirting back.

Placing a big bag of pastries on her desk, Bond asks, “Could you do me a favour and take these down to the boffins in Q-branch?”

“Trying to bribe your way into their good graces?”

Bond wrinkles his brows. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s more of a…”

“Bribe,” Moneypenny says, matter-of-factly.

“An encouragement,” finishes Bond. “Like this cookie,” he says, setting the pastry bag down in front of her. “For you.”

Moneypenny, recognizing the emblem on the bag, looks up at Bond with a raised eyebrow, waiting.

“And this,” Bond says as he places a box of half-dozen macrons next to the cookie.

Moneypenny smiles. “It would be my pleasure, Bond.”

“Thank you, Moneypenny. You’re a treasure.”

Bond wisely says nothing about sweets and weight gain.

00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q00Q

Bond shuts himself away in his disused office and sits down gingerly to finish writing his mission report before he debriefs with Mallory at nine. It doesn’t take Bond long to complete as he had started it while on the plane back to London.

Task done, he pulls his MI6-issued laptop closer to do what he really came in to accomplish. Time to do some digging.

He starts with some Google searches: ‘Alistair Callum,’ ‘Alistair S. Callum,’ ‘Samuel Callum,’ and etc. Bond clicks on some of the links in the results to view the social media profiles. None of them fits Q.

Narrowing his eyes in thought, Bond tries ‘Cameron Phillips UK’ and is somewhat successful. There’s a faceless LinkedIn profile and the limited details match what Bond remembers of the profile on MI6’s database.

Bond logs in to MI6 to check. Pulling up his search history, he clicks on the last search he did three days ago which used facial recognition on a grainy picture of Q that Bond had gotten from CCTV.

Comparing the two profiles side-by-side, Bond tentatively confirms his suspicions that Q is Cameron Phillips. Just to be sure, Bond does searches for the other six profiles and find social media presence that match.

What was it that Q said? Identity generator software complete with Twitter handle.

_Damn._

Smiling wryly, Bond really has to hand it to Q; the boy’s too clever by half.

Call it a hunch, but Bond thinks he has got it right, that Q _is_ Cameron Phillips.

Bond can understand using an alias but why is it necessary? Why would Q lie about his name to the British _government_ , the institution that he _works_ for?

Glancing at Cameron Phillips’ date of birth, Q should be thirty-five instead of ‘thirty-two with a PhD’ like he had said. Why lie about his age?

Nothing adds up. Bond is putting two and two together and falling woefully short of a real answer.

His best theory is Q was put in to a protection program. But why?

Bond taps his thumbs against the bottom edge of the keyboard in consideration.

Something terrible must have happened to Q’s family. Something that resulted in a deceased mother, who might have been pregnant with Q’s younger sibling at the time of her death, and a father who now ‘travels.’

Travelling is probably a better-sounding euphemism for absentee parent or incarceration. Hell, _Bond_ travels for his job and—oh.

Maybe Q’s father also works or worked in intelligence.

Bond does a search of MI5 and MI6 employees with a surname of ‘Phillips’ or ‘Callum.’ Unfortunately, none of the people in the resulting short lists seem likely.

Q might have removed his father’s records from the database for safety purposes. Perhaps Q and his father were put in to protection under different surnames to further disassociate their relationship.

Either way, it sets Bond back to square one.

He sighs and checks his watch. Plenty of time for a short row with his lover before his debriefing.

Bond types the full name that Q near whispered to him last night in to the MI6 search bar. Bond presses the enter key and instantly, the screen goes haywire. The laptop makes a loud grinding noise and then shuts off completely with a small zap.

Bond figured something like that would happen. He wouldn’t put it past Q to set up alerts and precautions for searches on his full name. Thankfully, Q respects machinery enough to not put explosives in them.

Bond pushes his chair back and puts his feet up on the table, crossing them at the ankles, a perfect picture of lazy nonchalance. He sets his phone on a timer for ten minutes before tossing it on to the desk. That’s how long he’ll give Q to summon him or Bond will go down to Q-branch himself. In the meantime, Bond will get some shut-eye.

With his eyes closed, he can better draw up two pictures of Q’s tattoos: one of how they look like normally, and the other of how they looked like when Bond found him in the bath.

Granted, Bond only saw the front when he interrupted Q’s wank, and the water refracted the tattoos on his legs, but comparing them now in his mind’s eye, Bond can see a difference in the way the large tentacles on his chest were positioned. Plus, there were a couple of thin ones on his torso that curved up his ribs and around to the back when there shouldn’t have been any.

As far as Bond knows, tattoos are permanent and they sure as hell don’t move to another place for a short while and then return.

Unless it’s magic.

Bond ponders his feelings about it for a moment, and decides that he’ll be happy to remain a Muggle and shack up with his genius wizard.

…Come to think of it, Q may as well be a grown version of Harry Potter with that hair. Bond smiles to himself at that thought. (He never believed the boy-wizard was entirely straight anyway.)

The alarm for the timer goes off and Bond opens his eyes with a frown. No text or call from Q. He can’t be that busy, can he? Maybe he anticipated Bond’s actions and is waiting for Bond to go to him. Well then, fine.

Making his way down to Q-branch, Bond concedes that the misplaced tattoos could have been a trick of the light and water. Still, he saw what he saw. He had been knackered after his mission but that didn’t mean he had stopped observing. He wouldn’t make a very good agent if he did.

At this point, nothing about Q makes any sense. Bond only has pieces to the puzzle and it’s bloody frustrating. But Bond can be patient, he can wait. He has to spend more time with Q, that’s all.

Stepping in just past the doors of Q-branch, Bond notes that Q’s office is empty. R is down in the glassed-off pit, facing the giant screens on the wall, handling what looks like an intense mission. There’s a sense of uneasiness in the air as the boffins in the ‘pen talk in low murmurs or scurry about in mild distress. They all cast the occasional furtive glance towards the pit with worried eyes.

 _Maybe they’re the reason why_ , Bond thinks as he notices Mallory, Moneypenny, and Tanner standing out of the way in the pit.

Bond makes his way in and over to the small congregation. Nobody tries to stop him.

“Bond.”

Bond nods in greeting. “Tanner.”

Mallory and Moneypenny merely glance at Bond’s appearance without comment before looking back up at the screens.

Bond leans into Tanner and asks lowly, “What’s going on?”

“Q’s missing.”

Bond’s blood runs cold at the two words he never wants to hear.

“Update,” he snaps.

“Q sent off a distress signal at 7:46 this morning. His position has been triangulated to be somewhere in the vicinity shown on the map,” Tanner points at one of the large screens.

“We’ve tried his phone. It went directly to voicemail which makes us believe that they have a close-range signal jammer. We’ve also activated his trackers, both on his phone and on his person, but with the jammer in place they’re useless. We have no idea where he is.”

Bond swallows hard and it does nothing to dislodge the heart in his throat.

Waving at the other screens, Tanner continues, “We’re systematically checking every traffic camera in the area right now in that timeframe with facial recognition for Q but it’s slow going.”

A buzzing noise starts up in Bond’s ear, drowning out other sounds.

This must be how Q feels when Bond goes off radar.

_Helpless._

Q must know that he comes back every time, right?

The better question is: will Q come back? Q who has no field experience, zero combat training, and just learned how to hit a bullseye not too long ago. What if he—.

Bond ruthlessly shuts down that train of thought and focuses on staying calm. Panicking doesn’t help anybody.

The buzzing clears and Bond can objectively look at this like another set of mission parameters.

Location. They need a _location_.

Bond pivots on the balls of his feet to face R. He blurts out the location of the bakery and the approximate time he and Q had left.

R, having heard Bond, looks at him and then at Mallory for confirmation. At Mallory’s nod, she brings up the appropriate footage on one of the big screens and cycles the time forward until Bond appears in the frame, hailing a taxi for Q. Just as the taxi pulls up to the curb, Bond pulls Q towards him.

The video image is grainy and pixelated with such a low framerate that all movement looks jerky, but there’s no mistaking the two of them as Bond leans in to Q for a long goodbye kiss.

“Um,” R fumbles.

She tries to remove the footage from the screen and instead, manages to rewind the video so that the kiss is played out in full view again. It finally pauses mid-kiss, Q’s body flush against Bond’s.

Without looking at the glass partition behind him, Bond is sure that everyone in the bullpen is staring at him. If the situation wasn’t so urgent, he might care about his reputation, and Q’s as well, but right now Bond doesn’t give a damn.

Boldly, his eyes flicker away from the screens to meet Mallory’s, conveying without words that _now isn’t the time especially while the trail is still fresh_.

Mallory’s gaze is inscrutable and the best Bond can do is hold it.

Finally Mallory lets out a sigh, exasperated. He turns and says, “R, track that taxi on traffic cams. Find out where they’re going. Let me know when and where they stop.”

“Yes, sir,” R says, fingers flying over her keyboard and the video on the screen resumes playing.

“Moneypenny, reschedule our budget meeting. Tell them we’re in the middle of a national emergency. I’ll calm ruffled feathers later.”

“Sir,” Moneypenny says and leaves.

Mallory turns to Tanner and says, “Prepare a kit and transportation for 007. Get him something fast.”

“Right away,” Tanner acknowledges before leaving to find a technician.

Bond allows himself to take a subtly deep breath through his nose, easing the tension in his chest slightly. Mallory is going to let it stay within MI6 rather than handing it over to MI5.

“Bond, follow me,” Mallory says.

 _Time to pay the piper_ , Bond thinks.

Sequestered in Q’s soundproof office with the windows turned opaque, Bond and Mallory resume their staring match from earlier.

Bond fights the urge to look away first and feels quite relieved that he didn’t have to play against Mallory’s poker face in Montenegro.

Bond had expected Mallory to lay it in to him while they wait, but instead Mallory starts with an even tone, “Two things…”

Mallory pulls out his phone to show Bond an alert message that reads:

 _Unauthorized search: ‘A******* S***** C*****’_  
Origin: Bond, James  
Serial: 574063455722

“First, that name does not exist anywhere on record and it does _not_ leave this office. Do I make myself clear?”

Mallory knows Q’s story, or at least some of it. Bond files away that tidbit away for later and nods, “Yes, sir.”

“Second, have you seen Q’s tentacles?”

“Yes,” Bond says, picturing the tattoos he was thinking about not too long ago.

Mallory hesitates a bit but asks, “The _actual_ ones?”

 _Here_ _is the other shoe_ , Bond thinks, resigned and braces himself.

“The  _a_ _ctual_ ones, sir?” Bond asks, brows furrowed in query.

Mallory sighs, a tired sound. He stares off at a point beyond Bond’s shoulder and Bond watches the small movements in his eyes, left then right then left again, weighing something heavy in his mind.

At long last, Mallory says, “Q’s tattoos. They become _real_ like actual tentacles.”

It’s Bond’s turn to stare past Mallory’s shoulder.

_And there it is. The truth, second hand._

Bond doesn’t quite know what to feel. Numb, he supposes.

“Judging by your lack of skepticism, you believe me even though you haven’t seen them yet,” Mallory says, the sentence somewhere between a statement and a question.

“Yes,” Bond replies flatly.

“I have to warn you, they’re a bit of a shock,” Mallory says, wincing in remembrance.

Bond nods sharply at the understatement of the century.

They fall quiet then, both lost in their own thoughts. Bond connects the dots and analyzes events within the past two weeks with a fresh perspective: Q’s evasive answers, his anxiety after their romp in the car, the _fucking bathtub_.

Bond was right about the moving tattoos. Sometimes he hated being right.

“How do they…become real?” Bond asks.

“One second they’re tattoos and then they _come up_ ,” Mallory lifts both of his hands, palms to the sky, “Off from his _skin_ like cartoon drawings and turn into flesh.”

Bond pictures the scenario in his mind’s eye.

“Put me off seafood for weeks,” Mallory mutters, grimacing.

Bond can’t sympathize because it looks…intriguing.

“Yes, but how does it work?” Bond asks.

Mallory shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask for an explanation on the science behind it. I don’t think Q would have told me anyway. They’re a highly secretive people.”

Translation: Mallory knows about as much as Bond does, which is only slightly more.

Mallory’s phone vibrates with a text from R and reports, “They’re headed east.”

Bond stands upright from the wall that he was leaning against, roaring to go but Mallory blocks his exit.

Looking Bond in the eye, Mallory says, “This is a need-to-know only.”

“Of course,” Bond says, indignation colouring his voice. “Sir,” he adds on at the end.

Mallory ignores Bond’s slight insubordination.

“Good. One last thing. This is again obvious, but it has to be said. If you see something like a giant octopus or a giant squid, don’t shoot. Because that’s Q.”

Mallory waits for Bond to show a sign of understanding. When he does, Mallory opens the door and they step out.

“Bring Q home, 007,” Mallory orders. “We’ll debrief as soon as you’re back.”

“Sir,” Bond says.

He picks up his kit (ammunition, knife, and earpiece) and heads towards the car park.

Speeding through a series of R-controlled green lights in the DBS, Bond thinks, _hang on, Q. I’m coming_.

After Bond kills the people who dare to snatch Q out from under _his_ watch, Bond is going to wring Q’s scrawny neck. Then they’re going to have a serious conversation.

Bond anticipates a lot of shouting (from himself) and backtalk (from Q). Bond smiles in grim determination, he’s rather looking forward to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments to me are what chocolates are like to Vulcans. 
> 
> Bond drove an Aston Martin DBS V12 in Quantum of Solace (2008).
> 
> Apologies if this was a bit boring. Bond is very introspective and chatty in this verse. It was easier to just let him ramble rather than fight him on it. Current goal for the next update is November 2017, after I drag myself out of the deep, dark pit of despair that is my other [fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12154737/chapters/27582384). (Shameless plug is shameless. Please go read it if you haven't already. It has demon!Q.)


End file.
